The Shadow King
by BookishAdventures
Summary: After receiving a tip from their dad, Sam and Dean hunt a spirit who is attacking recent organ transplant recipients. The hunt leads them into a world of ugly secrets. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural or its characters.

A/N: This story is timed around the end of Season One, just before John's death.

**The Shadow King**

**Chapter One**

Where shadows dim with shadows mate  
In caverns deep and dark,  
Where old books dream of bygone days  
When they were wood and bark,  
Where diamonds from coal are born  
And no birds ever sing,  
That region is the dream domain  
Ruled by the Shadow King.  
-Walter Moers, "The City of Dreaming Books"

"That it?" Sam Winchester asked his older brother, ducking down so he could see out the driver's side window and get a clearer view of the building across the street.

Dean pulled the Impala off the road, parking on the curb. "That's the address Dad gave us," he replied quietly. They had expected to arrive at a house; instead they had come to what appeared to be an old firehouse: the large glass garage doors and so on, except it had been converted to a café, packed full of people. The parking lot was full, and they were only just able to snatch up the last remaining parking spot on the street.

The brothers were both exhausted. They had only just finished a grueling week-long hunt after a particularly nasty poltergeist, taken the time to check into a motel, and within two hours, they had received a phone call from their father John. "I need you boys to do me a favor," he announced, in his usual hushed tone when he used a payphone and was discussing a hunt.

"Sure, Dad," Dean responded quickly, exchanging a glance with his baby brother. Their father had been elusive, but they both knew he was busy hunting down the thing that killed their mother. He touched bases with them once in a while, but always dropped off the map soon after that. He sent them cases now and then, and this was just one of those.

"Kansas City, MO. You look up Polly Dranias when you pull into town; she'll give you the details, help you with anything you might need," John instructed them.

"Who is she? A hunter?" It was a name Dean had never heard before.

John paused for a moment, then Dean heard him sigh on the other side of the phone. "No. She's a civilian; she runs a café, but I trust her," he told his oldest firmly, and he knew that was all he had to say. If it was someone he trusted, Dean wouldn't question his instruction any further. "You got a pen?"

"Yeah."

"Polly Dranias. D-R-A-N-I-A-S. Only one in town. It sounds pretty bad, so you watch yourself, and if I finish with my hunt in time, I'll swing by and help you boys out."

Dean nodded as if his father could see him, and then he heard the phone click on the other side. After that, Sam and Dean both took a few hours to sleep away the exhaustion of the previous hunt, shower, grab a cup of coffee, and they hit the road. Stopping only for gas and to switch drivers, they arrived in Kansas City six hours later, and they found themselves parked in front of the old garage coffee shop, bursting with life.

Slowly, the Winchester boys got out of the Impala, slamming the doors shut, crossed the street, and walked inside. The décor was simple: the brick walls painted a dark grey; the menus hung up from the high ceiling; simple tables and chairs and not a single one empty. The bar, holding the espresso machine, also displayed tshirts and mugs, one that stated "Wake the F*ck up", another that said "Your mom drinks decaf." Dean couldn't help but grin: he liked the attitude of the place, and it was even better that Black Sabbath was playing from the speakers overhead.

They waited their turn in line, then greeted the cashier. "Hey, we're looking for Polly Dranias. She in today?" Dean inquired after they each ordered a coffee.

"She'll be here any minute now," the cashier responded quickly with a smile. "I'll send her your way when she gets here if you want to hang out."

"Yeah, sure thing. Thanks."

So the brothers sat down at the bar, the only empty seats in the place, and Sammy pulled out his laptop. During the last stop before entering Kansas City, they had stopped for a newspaper and discovered nothing at all. No suspicious deaths, nothing that gave them reason to believe that there was anything supernatural going on. Except for the fact that John would never have sent them there without checking into it first, no matter how much he trusted anyone. So instead of giving up, they got back in the car and drove the last stretch until they reached the café, where they now sat.

"Doesn't look like it's made it into the news, whatever it is," Sammy concluded after a few minutes of staring hard at his screen. He shrugged, because that didn't necessarily mean anything at all. Often, the police were able to lie their way out of a publicized case with things they couldn't explain.

Dean glanced around the café without a response. Whenever his dad sent him on a hunt, he felt more anxious to get started immediately. John would never have called them, risking their safety and his own, if there wasn't a damn good reason. But at the same time, there was the knowledge that this Polly wasn't a hunter, whoever she was. And why hadn't he ever heard of her before? Because it wasn't really as if John had many friends as it was, but the few he had were all hunters or involved in the lifestyle somehow. But no, this was different.

"Nothing on any of the local forums either," Sammy continued. "Recent deaths in the area haven't seemed to increase recently. No omens in the area either."

Dean nodded distantly, still silent as he looked around at the people inside the coffee shop: they were mostly younger—twenties and thirties. Some were dressed in torn clothes with tattoos and dreadlocks; others were dressed more simply and classically. Some wore scrubs, probably employed by the hospital up the street. As usual in coffee shops, there were people studying, others visiting, and so on. People were in and out pretty quickly, as there weren't many seats left open. Nothing out of the ordinary.

They had waited only ten or fifteen minutes, when they were approached by a girl on the opposite side of the bar. She was in her early or mid twenties, maybe, with copper hair, dimples when she smiled, gauged ears, and a freckled nose that was pierced on either side. Not remotely what Dean expected: she was cute, dressed in short shorts and a loose fitted tank top with tattoos on her arms and legs. "Sam and Dean, right?" she asked with a smile. "Thank you so much for coming."

Dean nodded once. "Our dad said you would fill us in," he said, cutting right to it. Whenever their father sent them on a hunt, he went all in.

She passed Dean a single file, thin and wrinkled. "This is Raymond Steller. He was a doctor at a children's hospital up the street, killed in a car accident about six months ago," she began in a casual tone as to not alert anyone around them. "There was nothing suspicious about the accident according to the police: they said he fell asleep at the wheel, left it at that."

Dean glanced down at the pictures of the accident—the car's front end crushed, photos of the bloody body. Quickly, he scanned the police report, and as she said, it had been deemed an accident and the investigation was closed. He passed it to his brother, then glanced back at Polly. "So?" he asked, trying not to sound too impatient.

"Raymond Steller was declared brain dead, and his only living relative—a brother who he hadn't spoken to in over thirty years—gave consent to remove the ventilator as well as donate his organs," she continued in a matter of fact tone, sliding another file towards Dean. She took a deep breath before she went on, "In here, I have Thomas Diern, Sophia Busk, Marcus Young, Stephen Dell, Brian O'Malley, and Heather Richard."

Dean skimmed through the second file more carefully: autopsy reports, police statements, obituaries, and so on. Whoever Polly was, she was thorough, but he still didn't understand the connection or why John had sent them here. "The cause of deaths were all different though, not a single car accident. Thomas Diern had a massive heart attack; Sophia Busk went into kidney failure," Dean pointed out.

Polly nodded. "Yeah. That's what the cops said, but I had a bad feeling about it, so I did some digging. The six later victims each received an organ transplant in the months leading up to their deaths."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, both alert now. Similar cases were not unheard of. The pieces were starting to come together. "Yeah, but don't organ transplants fail all the time?" Sammy inquired.

"Yes, and no," Polly answered, waiting while another customer walked past. "After an organ transplant, there is a possibility that the recipient's body may reject the organ; they're put on medication to prevent that, but it's not always effective. When someone gets an organ transplant, the donor is checked for all sorts of preexisting conditions, including anything that would cause a heart attack or kidney failure, as well as STDs, or genetic disorders and whatnot. The reason being that the transplant process is so traumatic that such things are much more dangerous to the recipient afterward. If a recipient goes into rejection, it's a slow process, and they're put back on the waiting list for another organ." She watched Dean nod once that he understood.

"Okay, so how does it all fit together?" Sam asked. "Isn't organ donation confidential? Therefore, we wouldn't know if any of these people got an organ from Steller, and even so, couldn't it be a freak medical thing?"

"That's what I thought initially, but I had a bad feeling about it, so I checked into it, and every one of them had the same blood type: A-positive. From there, I did more digging, and I was able to find records with UNOS that say Steller's organs went to these people," she told them.

Dean and Sammy exchanged a glance quickly. Whoever she was, she had her shit together and she made a convincing argument. "It's suspicious, yeah, and freaky, but there's still a possibility that it was some complication with the surgery," Dean insisted, which was the truth. In his time as a hunter, he had learned of many freak medical cases that had once been suspected as something supernatural. It wasn't always the case.

"Wrong," Polly said firmly. "Look at the cause of deaths." She waited as Dean looked down at the file, Sammy peering around his brother's arms to see as well. After they checked each autopsy report, they looked back at her, still confused. "Thomas Diern had a massive heart attack; the organ he received was Steller's heart. Sophia Busk got a kidney. Heather Richard, she got an artery that literally exploded inside of her. Whichever organ they had transplanted, that was the cause of death."

Sam and Dean looked at each other again. Because if they weren't convinced before, they sure as hell were now.

Hope you enjoyed! Please review, and I will continue to update within a few days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Man, I gotta say, she was genius to put all this together," Sammy commented, glancing up from his computer screen as Dean entered the bedroom, rubbing a towel over his short hair with another wrapped around his waist. Polly had given them directions to her house a few minutes away from the coffee shop, complete with the garage door code, told them to ignore the dogs—they were all bark and no bite—and that there were two good beds and plenty of food if they wanted it. Exhausted and ready to start the hunt, they obliged. Sam had been going through the files Polly had collected, as well as anything in the public records he could find easily, while Dean showered.

Dean had to agree, although he wasn't exactly sure why a non-hunter would bother with it all, but John had said that he trusted Polly, and that was good enough for Dean. "Okay, so the transplants all took place in different hospitals with different surgeons, different nurses, and in different cities even, right?" he asked, and watched Sam nod once. "Which means the only connection is Steller, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I've been digging up anything I can on him, but it seems pretty basic thus far: attended the University of Kansas for his undergrad and for medical school; he did a surgical residency at KU Medical Center, and then was hired as a general surgeon at Children's Mercy, where he worked until the time of his death. Everyone said he was a quiet guy, kept to himself, no real friends, didn't keep contact with anyone. His day planner consisted of only his work schedule, doctors and dentist appointments, and so on. His brother didn't have much information to offer the cops either; he flew up long enough to sign the papers for organ donation and to remove him from the ventilator, and then took the first flight out," he told his brother with a sigh. "Didn't even go to the funeral."

"Where's the brother live?"

"Uh, Denver, Colorado. I've been trying to find a number for him though."

"Hmm." Too far to drive out there to question him… "What about his house, his belongings, anything left to go through?"

Sam dug through the pile of papers to find the one he was looking for. "Looks like the brother didn't bother with any of that. The house has been sitting empty since Steller's death, I guess the bank is about to foreclose on it."

Dean nodded. "Let's start there and dig up whatever we can on him—dirty secrets and all," he suggested, snatching up his clothes.

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Steller's house was overgrown when they reached it: grass knee high with vines covering the sides of the house. There was a foreclosure notice on the door, as well as an order to vacate the property. Windows were broken, and there was fresh spray paint on the garage door. Sammy positioned himself to block the view of Dean's hands and kept a lookout as his older brother quickly and meticulously picked the lock, throwing the door open as soon as he finished and they hurried inside.

There was dust everywhere, except for the places where people had walked. The living room was simply furnished: just a couch, an armchair, a coffee table, and an old tv. The other rooms were similar. After they had gone through each one, checking for EMF and searching for anything that could help in their investigation to suggest that Steller would have reason to come back as a pissed off spirit, the brothers met up in the living room again. "Nothing?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah." But he was thinking hard. "It's weird; it's like he wasn't ever here… Did you see a financial report in all those files she got us?" he inquired.

"No, why?"

"Just a thought really, but general surgeons make a good $350,000 a year, Dean. So why would he live in an old two bedroom house with a mortgage payment of $600 a month, drive a ten year old car, and live like this?"

Dean saw his point, because it actually didn't make sense. Hell, the guy didn't even have a freaking DVD player. Family and a social life aside, there were other things to spend money on. "Good thinking, Sammy. Let's go dress up as our favorite detectives." He flashed a grin, and then gestured for Sam to lead the way out of the house.

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Thanks for those who followed the story and/or reviewed. I appreciate it! Will keep updating whenever I've got the next chapter ready.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Detectives Murdock and Stiles," Dean announced, flashing his badge to the young uniform cop who had greeted them when they walked into the precinct. "We were looking for information about Raymond Steller's death."

The young man glanced around, then seated himself at a computer. "I'm not familiar with the case. Is it still open?"

"No. A car accident a few months back."

With that, he quickly pulled up the file in their records. "Looks like it was ruled an accident; he fell asleep at the wheel," he explained. "What does the FBI want with it? I mean, it's not really suspicious."

"We're not actually interested in the accident so much," Sammy replied easily. "He was an organ donor, and several of the recipients had suspicious deaths." The truth, although vague. He caught Dean's warning look: the last thing they needed was a bunch of cops screwing up their hunt.

The cop printed off the information, shoved it into a file, and then passed it to them. "We didn't investigate much really, seeing as it was proved an accident early on. But there's what we have," he said with a smile.

Dean nodded once, turned on his heel and walked away. As soon as they were out if eyesight, Sammy opened the file and began scanning it. Within seconds, his expression turned dark. "Dean, I'm not so sure it was an accident," he announced. His brother stopped short and waited for an explanation. "Most people don't fall asleep at the wheel on their way to work in the morning with an almost empty coffee mug in the car." He handed him a picture of the scene of the accident.

Dean nodded. "Suicide?"

"It would explain why he's hanging around still."

"Yeah, but it's not like we can just salt and burn him in this case; and we sure as hell can't go around ripping organs out of people to do the job either."

Sammy shrugged, thinking hard. He wasn't sure if there was any other solution though. People were dying, and they all linked back to Steller.

"Any ideas?" Dean asked impatiently. This was exactly when his dad would have a great idea, a clever plan, something.

"Not really."

Dean stood, unlocked the doors to the Impala and climbed in. Cases like this, they drove him crazy; they kept him up at night until he figured out some sort of solution. He glanced at his baby brother as he started the car. On the drive back to Polly's house, Sammy read the file more carefully, although had nothing to share, which gave Dean little help that they were going to find anything useful in it. "Dammit, Sammy, I just don't get it," he announced as they pulled up the driveway. "You would think a single guy, no matter what age, with that kind of money would have something to show for it." Hell, he would! A girl on both arms, complete with a bachelor pad and all the rest.

Sam shrugged casually. He didn't have an explanation anymore than Dean did.

Dean grunted to himself, but never got a chance to say anything, because as they pulled up to the house, he spotted an old classic Mustang parked in the spot they had previously occupied: cherry red, squeaky clean. "Oh man!" Dean muttered under his breath. "Sam, being such a geek, you wouldn't know this, but only nine hundred of those were ever made!"

Sam rolled his eyes to himself. Cars were his dad's and his brother's thing; he stuck to his books. And it wasn't as if either of them complained when he had some helpful information to use during a hunt.

Dean started toward the front door, slowly taking in all the details of the Mustang. "Looks like a '69 to me," he told his brother.

"You guessed right," Polly answered with a grin, opening the door for them.

"She yours?" Dean inquired, not bothering to try and hide his shock. Because he hadn't pegged Polly for that kind of girl, not in the slightest.

Polly nodded. "Yeah, she's my girl." Instead of her previously casual outfit, she now wore a black mini dress, classic in the front but with a low back. Her nails were painted a dark blood red, she was barefoot but carried a pair of black heels in her hand, also clutching a small purse. "I did also notice yours: '67, 327, 4-barrel," she listed with another quick smile.

Dean was impressed. More often than not, he had to explain to girls why he drove such an old car instead of a new one, and even fewer knew what it was on sight. "So you know cars and the supernatural," he gave her.

"Among other things," she admitted with a mischievous tone, eying Dean. "I just put away dinner if you want to warm it back up," she responded, walking up the stairs to where he assumed her room was.

"Oh man!" Dean muttered, wandering to the kitchen.

"Dean, we're on a case, and she's one of dad's friends," Sammy pointed out, trying not to smile—it would only encourage him. Whenever Dean had the chance, he immediately turned to female company. And when he couldn't, he made his jokes and comments, or tried to convince Sam to pick up someone.

The older brother rolled his eyes to himself, pulling out the warm plate from the fridge and carelessly tossing it into the microwave. "Okay, concentrate, Sammy," he instructed irritably. "Did you find anything worth looking into in there?"

"Not one, single thing." Sam sighed, loosening his tie. "The cops didn't dig into his life though to look for enemies as it was ruled an accident so early on. The damage to the car was consistent of a single car accident."

"But?" Dean pressed.

"But I just can't wrap my head around the coffee mug and the fact that he was coming off a weekend off at work. It just seems unlikely he would fall asleep under the circumstances."

"Maybe it was decaf," Dean muttered jokingly, although he did agree with his brother. Usually in their line of business, when things sounded strange, they were, and they were worth looking into. "What about a number for his brother?"

Sammy glanced down at the file, then nodded. "Yeah."

Dean immediately pulled out his phone and dialed the number, tapping the countertop impatiently. After five rings, someone finally answered, "Hello?" A woman's voice.

"Hey, I was looking for a Jonah Steller. Is he available by chance?"

"What's this about?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a quick glance. The truth or a lie? Dean wondered, because if two brothers didn't talk for over thirty years, there was clearly some sort of falling out. Or so he assumed anyway. "I'm with the FBI, investigating a situation that began after Jonah consented to donate his brother's organs," he explained, wording his statement carefully.

"Is he in some sort of trouble?"

"No, no. We were just hoping he could give us more information about the deceased."

A short silence on the other line, and then finally, the woman sighed. "One moment please."

Dean let out a short breath of exasperation, watching in hunger as Sammy pulled the food from the microwave and began serving two plates. God, it looked delicious, and it smelled even better.

"This is Jonah." The voice snapped Dean out of his trance, anger registering in the voice.

"My name is Murdock; I'm with the FBI," Dean began cautiously. "You sighed consent for your brothers organs to be donated, didn't you?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"But you didn't go to his funeral, or even make arrangements for it. Why is that?"

"We didn't get along, as I told the police before. Why is this a matter for the FBI exactly? Because it was ruled an accident."

"Yeah, it was; we're investigating another matter now, and we would appreciate your full cooperation," Dean explained firmly, mimicking his best FBI agent tone. When Jonah remained silent on the other line, he continued, "What can you tell me about your brother?"

"Nothing you don't already know; we didn't talk, and we haven't since I left for school."

"And when was that?"

"1976."

"Did you boys have some sort of falling out?"

A short silence, and then Dean heard Jonah clearing his throat. "We never got along, but Ray could be an cruel bastard sometimes."

Dean glanced up at Sam, knitting his brows together. "How so?"

"Manipulative more than anything," Jonah explained. "He always had to get his way."

"Pretty typical of younger brothers though, I'd say," Dean mumbled, ignoring Sam's confused look.

"Ray took it to the extremes though. When I was leaving for college, I told him I was taking my dog Goldie with me. The same day, Goldie got hit by a car, or so Ray said, but the car drove off supposedly. He said that she slipped her collar, but it wasn't buckled when I found it, and the vet said the injuries weren't consistent."

Dean's frown deepened. "Did he have a history of animal cruelty or any kind of mental illness?"

"Sir, my brother and I never got along. We fought over everything from the day he was old enough. He was fourteen when I left, our dad had just walked out, and he was a wreck. I don't doubt he let Goldie out of her collar, but that's all."

Dean wasn't so convinced. The strain in the man's voice, the way he had stated, "The same day, Goldie got hit by a car, or so Ray said." Jonah wasn't telling the truth, but in that big brother kind of way, he was still trying to protect his brother. Reasonable doubt, accompanied with the fact that nobody could testify either, and Jonah would never definitively say what he believed. Dean understood that much, and he decided to let it go. Instead, he changed the subject, "I'm also curious about his finances," he announced. "Do you have any information as to where all his money went?"

"No idea. Now if that's all the questions you have…"

Dean let out a sigh, then nodded once. "Thanks." He tossed the phone down in frustration, waiting for Sammy to burst out in a hundred questions even though he'd just heard half the conversation anyway. In annoyance, Dean grabbed the second plate of food and the second fork, and then shoved a giant bite in his mouth before telling Sammy, "Raymond Steller may or may not have been a sociopath of sorts, but other than that, I got nothing."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Sam had dug up Raymond Steller's finances before he announced he was going down to the guest bedroom to crash for the night, leaving Dean to sort through it. And so he sat himself at the island in the kitchen, papers spread out all over the counter, scouring every charge, adding up anything he thought might be suspicious, but in the end, it all added up: Raymond Steller made his $350,000, spent almost nothing, donated a lousy amount to charity every month—children's cancer—and then the rest went into savings. His retirement fund was outrageous. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Dean sighed in frustration, glancing out the window as he heard a car pull up. Minutes later, Polly walked in, kicking off her heels the second she walked in the door. She carried her clutch purse, a formal jacket, and a six pack. "Hey," she greeted with a smile, opening a drawer next to the fridge and pulling out a bottle opener. "Want one?" But she didn't wait for him to answer; she just handed him one.

Dean smiled to himself. One cool chick. He leaned back in his chair and took a large gulp. "So how do you know my dad?" he wondered out loud. They had only been at Polly's for a day now, but they knew almost nothing about her, aside from what her house was able to give them, which was that she owned two German shepherds, a ridiculous amount of books that were displayed on ceiling high shelves in the living room, played the cello and piano, owned a highly expensive classic Mustang, and that she worked at a café.

Polly leaned back against the counter. "We met a few years ago. My dad got himself caught up with a crossroads demon. Your dad helped me out," she explained casually, vaguely. "In return, I send him anything I get wind on, help him if I can."

Dean nodded once. He remembered hearing about the hunt: he had been sent on his own at the time, while Sammy was off at school. "You caught onto this like a pro," he told her, gesturing to the files surrounding him.

"Ah, well, after you get through the red tape, it's all pretty obvious I'd say," she concluded.

Dean was silent for a moment, then glanced up at her. "So, uh, your dad, he okay?" he asked, not sure what else to say. Because she wasn't a hunter. Whenever possible, he wanted to avoid chatting about cases with innocent civilians, even ones who were smart enough to contact a hunter if they thought something was up. Most times, when he was talking to a beautiful girl, his motives were completely different anyway.

"In a way," she replied, then smiled casually so he didn't ask what she meant by that. Crossroad demons were nasty, and manipulative; he could make a few guesses and probably not be too far off. But he also assumed she didn't want to talk about it, so he changed the subject quickly, "You've got a serious classic out there. You must have spent a pretty penny on it."

Polly grinned, lighting up at the mention of her car. "I rebuilt her actually. A few years ago, when I was still in college, I was dating a guy who refurbished classic cars for a living. I used his contacts to get the parts I needed, then kicked him to the curb and drove off in my Boss 429."

At that, Dean laughed out loud. "That's cold."

She nodded in agreement. "Yeah, well, it was worth it. How about yours? Is there a story there?"

"She was my dad's. We grew up on the road mostly, driving from one coast to the other in that thing, and then back again. It was something of a home I guess."

Polly didn't respond right away. For the first time, Dean took the time to study her closely, because she was beautiful. Tall and slender, with lean muscle, feminine curves. The way she carried herself, she had all the attitude and confidence in the world. She was graceful and charismatic. Her blue eyes shone with mischief, her smile was eager. She was smart too; that he could see. In the back of his head, he heard Sammy pointing out that she was their dad's friend, and quickly looked away, taking another large gulp of beer. "What about the coffee shop? When'd you start working there?"

"Oh, I own it," she told him. "I opened it after my dad died; he left me some money. I was working in the emergency room at the time, as a nurse, and the whole crossroad demon thing, I just needed a break for a while. It's been about two years now since we opened, I think."

Smarter than he thought, and not just when it came to classic cars. And so the conversation continued: she was easy to talk to. They chatted about cars at first, debating which engine was the most solidly built, and then moved onto their childhoods—both their fathers were gun enthusiasts. Polly had five older brothers, "None of them are democrats," she told him as she showed him her gun collection, tucked away in the study upstairs. From there, they went on to discuss music—she had a massive record collection—and then concerts they went to, and on and on and on. At last, they found themselves in the living room on the couch, the tv on some channel playing classic rock—the good stuff. Polly now wore a pair of boxers and a cut off ACDC tshirt, her legs curled up under her. They'd gone from beer to whiskey, and they were still talking. Dean could list dozens of girls he'd spent time with, but he couldn't name a single one he could compare to Polly. She just kept pulling him in more and more.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly when they finally came to a silence. Polly was chewing on the inside of her lip, watching his every move. "So, uh…" Dean started, but before he could go on, Polly had leaned in and kissed him. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, because, while he had been thinking about it all night, he had expected her to be the "thanks but no thanks" type. Instead, she waited for a protest, and then leaned in again, a smile on her lips. This time, Dean returned it, sliding her tongue into her mouth as she pushed his button up shirt off his shoulders.

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Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, and following! You guys are awesome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"Dean!" Sammy exclaimed, fuming.

Dean stopped short, halfway down the stairs with his wrinkled shirt hung over his arm. He'd almost made it. "What?" he asked innocently. There was no mistaking the part where he hadn't come down to the guest bedroom last night, and was descending the stairs from where Polly's room was, but it was none of Sammy's business.

"She's one of dad's friends."

"And we're both consenting adults, so shut your pie hole," Dean snapped impatiently. He hesitated only a few seconds, waiting to see if Sam would push the matter, and when he didn't, Dean nodded in satisfaction. "Last night, I went through every account, every goddamn bill he's had in the past two years, and there's nothing. I have no clue why, but I guess he's putting the majority of his income into savings."

Sam had found the folders spread out across the countertop that morning, more than expecting to find Dean still awake with a few empty beer bottles nearby or have fallen asleep in his chair. He'd found the beer bottles, and came around the corner to see his older brother sneaking downstairs like he was an idiot and couldn't guess where Dean had been. Hell, he had a reputation and Sam had guessed almost immediately after finding the kitchen empty. "As weird as that is though, I guess he's just a tightwad," Sam replied, seating himself at the island in the kitchen.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but I still don't get it. I mean, $350,000 a year is a lot of money. Why would he live in a shit neighborhood with a shit car? At least buy a Mercedes or something, like all the other single doctors in the world. He drove a Corolla. I just don't get it!"

Sam grinned to himself. "Not everyone is so obsessed with what car they drive, Dean."

"I know, but still! It doesn't make sense."

"Well, how much did he have in savings?"

Dean took a deep breath as he poured himself a cup of coffee: Polly had it on a timer apparently, because she was still upstairs in the shower. They had been together still when they felt the water pressure die down, and Dean hurriedly finished, got dressed, and came downstairs… A few seconds too late. "Too much. Between his retirement and short term, he had over two mil! Usually, wealth gets to people's heads, but this guy just hid it away. All of his bills were paid. Hell, he even paid off his student loans early, and after that, nothing. He barely spent a penny outside of bills, groceries, and gas."

Sam shrugged. That was that then, and they had to figure something else out, some other lead. He opened his laptop quickly. "I'm going to look up previous addresses, see if there were any reports of mutilated animals around them," he announced.

"Yeah, the dog thing bothers me too. Sick sons of bitches usually have a reputation, people left and right saying that they were horrible human beings. That, or nobody knows and they all say they're wonderful people. In this case, nobody knows one way or the other, not even his own brother."

"Some people are just like that, Dean."

"Yeah, but there's usually a reason."

Sam stared hard at the computer, while Dean just continued to run through ideas in his head. Enemies, none that they could find. Suicide, no evidence of it necessarily. The money trail was dead as far as he could see. His job was pretty cut and dry, but… Dean looked up suddenly. "Sammy, Steller was a general surgeon, right? Do they have anything to do with organ transplants?" he asked.

Sam shrugged, typing a similar question into the search bar on his computer. "Uh… Yes, and no. They often assist with the operations, and are familiar with the process of removing organs—kidneys, spleen, appendix, etc.—but there's a special team that's called in to do the actual transplant. Why?"

"Nothing," Dean mumbled, but Sam could tell by his brother's expression that there was something. "How many organs can you donate?"

Sam paused to reference his computer screen, and then looked back up at his brother again with a bad look. "Bad news: you can donate your eyes, heart, liver, kidneys, lungs, intestines, but you can also donate blood, platelets, bone marrow, and any number of things. A single donor can save—or improve—up to thirty-five lives," he read from the screen.

"So we could be looking at another twenty or thirty victims, and we don't have a single lead?" Dean inquired impatiently.

Sam didn't respond though, because he didn't need to. Both brothers knew the urgency of the situation, and there was something. There always was: a reason, a motive. They just hadn't found it yet. Sam went back to reading about organ donation on the computer screen, while Dean stood silently, thinking hard. Enemies, finances, manner of death, his job… Dean straightened up. "Sammy, do you find it a little creepy that he didn't have a single friend to speak of but he still worked at a children's hospital?" he wondered.

"Some people are just better with kids."

"Yeah, but those people usually have friends and hobbies, and don't have a history of killing their brother's dog."

"We don't know that he killed it, Dean."

"It's creepy, Sam!"

"Then why didn't he have any complaints at work? Not a single one. His boss said he was excellent with his patients and their families, always friendly, dedicated, everything a surgeon should be."

Dean didn't reply; he'd gone back to thinking.

Polly walked in the room, her hair still wet. She slid past Dean innocently, even when he glanced down at her, and poured herself a coffee, then turned to Sam. "I'm not a hunter, so feel free to tell me to shut up," she began, and the brothers both waited for her to go on: maybe an outside opinion would help. "But working in a children's hospital isn't creepy at all; the dog thing, while disturbing, isn't unheard of from an angry teen. No friends, fine; a lot of surgeons spend a lot of time and energy with their work, and at the end of the day, they just need to have some time to themselves."

She had a point…

"So what?" Dean asked. "Every other idea we've had is a dead end."

"Yeah, he was just about as clean as they come," Sam pointed out.

"Maybe. But no one really knew him, so nobody could really testify one way or the other, right?" She didn't wait for them to answer though. "Some people keep their secrets in another way."

"What do you mean?" Dean pressed. She had his attention. She was smart enough to put all this together; she was smart enough to figure it all out too. That morning, when her alarm went off, they had spoken about it all briefly after she had asked him what they were planning to do. His frustration was obvious, and clearly she had given it some thought after he left.

"His computer," she answered, pointing to the financial report casually. "He paid for internet."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Damn, she was good! "We never found a computer in the house though," he told her. "The cops didn't either."

"There wasn't a router in the house that I saw," Dean pointed out.

"Just because he paid for internet doesn't mean the internet was at his home," Polly told them, as if it should have been obvious. With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Sam and Dean to hurriedly find which internet company Raymond Steller used.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Got it!" Sam exclaimed, grinning. "She was right; he didn't have it at his house. The internet provider gave me the address. Real estate records state that it's an abandoned house, but the utilities are on according to Missouri Gas Energy and the electric company. Also, a contracting company has recent records of improvements made to it since being abandoned."

"Creepy, like I said," Dean stated conclusively. "Let's go!"

The boys ran out to the Impala and sped up the street toward the address they were provided. After driving a half an hour, they came to the abandoned house, except this house seemed better kept up than Steller's home. Overgrown though it was now, there was a garden in the front, the porch had a swing; in a cute old lady kind of way, the house almost seemed inviting.

Instead of picking the lock as he usually would, Dean kicked in the door immediately, and they walked into the entry way. The walls weren't plain as they were at Steller's home address; they were painted bright colors. There was a tv, complete with a DVD player, cable TV, plus the computer sat on a desk nearby.

"Maybe a little creepy," Sam announced as he walked up to the bookshelf. While the upper shelves were medical terminology books and so on, the bottom shelves contained children's books.

Dean pointed to the basket of toys on the floor beside the fireplace. "A lot creepy."

The brothers wandered around the house, snatching up anything that could possibly help their investigation, including the laptop left on the kitchen counter. The master bedroom was painted with a castle on the wall, horses, knights in shining armor, the whole princess and fairy tale deal. "So we found his dirty little secret," Dean muttered, disgust leaking into his voice as Sammy came up from the basement. "Sick son of a bitch."

Sam nodded, and they stalked out of the house in silence. Leaning against the Impala from the emotional exhaustion of what they had just discovered, Sam let out a long breath. "Judging from the books and toys, I'd say girls around six or eight," he said softly, but Dean didn't look at him.

The brothers rode up the street in silence, the radio turned off; the only sound the engine roaring under high RPM. Sam wasn't surprised when Dean pulled up to the hospital where Raymond Steller once worked, parked the Impala in the ambulance bay, and barged into the hospital with a furious look on his face. Sam ran after him, following him up to the surgical floor, where Dean grabbed the first staff member they came across. "You let him work around kids?" he shouted.

The nurse looked horrified as Dean gripped her arm, none to gently either. "Sir, I don't understand what you mean," she tried to say calmly, but her voice was shaking.

"Raymond Steller, that's what I mean," Dean spat out. "You let that sick son of a bitch around kids?" He pinned her against the wall with his body, his face close to hers.

"Dean," Sam said softly. "She didn't know." He reached his arm between his brother and the nurse, pulling Dean back.

"Like hell she didn't know. You never wondered why he was so friendly with all those little girls. Kids, who were vulnerable enough without—"

"Dean!" Sam raised his voice that time. "She didn't know. It's not her fault." He waited for his older brother to continue on his rampage, which he understood in a way, but Dean remained silent and only glared daggers at the nurse, who had suddenly began to put the pieces together. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

She nodded once, her eyes on Dean in caution.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm and dragged him up the hallway. "You can't just go off on people like that, Dean!" he scolded. He understood his brother's anger as much as anyone, but there was no way of the nurse—or anyone else inside the hospital—of knowing without complaints of misconduct. And according to Steller's boss, there wasn't a single complaint within his four years of working at Children's Mercy Hospital.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered furiously.

"Screaming at her isn't going to help anything, Dean," Sam tried, but it only made Dean's expression even more passionate. The younger brother sighed. "Let's go get records of all his patients and see if any of them went missing, and hope security doesn't come after us before we get what we need," he suggested, knowing that Dean's attitude would quickly change if they were busy tracking down the evil son of a bitch instead of attacking innocent nurses inside the hospital.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Eight hours later, they had a full list of the patients Dr. Raymond Steller treated, as well as any consultations he made, and had begun going through them all one by one. More than that, they had real estate records on the property they had discovered, and they had called UNOS in attempt to find more information about who else had received organs or blood or anything else from Steller. Dean had barely spoken though, remaining silent, grunting in response when Sam said something, and only passing Sam a file if he found something, never explaining anything. Sam had seen his brother in this kind of blind rage before. Not that it wasn't understandable…

Finally, after three pots of coffee between them and after they had sorted through all of his patients, both at KU Medical Center and at Children's Mercy, they had an outrageous amount of girls between the ages of five and ten, expanding the age range just in case. Dean shook his head miserably, rubbing a hand over his eyes, but neither of them could sleep now.

"In his whole career, there's over two thousand girls that fit," Sam said softly, and that was assuming he didn't ever go after boys, but he didn't want to think about that. In exhaustion, he reached for his computer and, one by one, he began typing the names into a search engine, trying to find any records of them passing away from suspicious causes, all while Dean was on the phone with UNOS, getting the list of recipients who got organs, blood, or whatever from Steller. Although blood and platelets were harder to track, he came up with another nineteen names, which he started looking up after Polly had dropped home shortly, seen the brothers' moods and offered to let them use her computer if it would help. That it did, because they could now cover the information in half the time.

"And that's two more already dead," Dean announced, tossing his notepad across the table at his brother. Two of the names UNOS gave him, they had died of suspicious causes. A man who received a single blood transfusion for anemia had massive internal bleeding within days, and a little boy who received bone marrow, every bone in his body was crushed but he didn't have a single bruise on him.

Sam glanced down at the notes Dean had taken, then back towards his computer. Neither of them were going to sleep well—if at all—until it was over and done, but some things still didn't make sense. Like, for instance, if Steller was such a sick son of a bitch, why was he killing people who received his organs, instead of girls that matched the description of his previous victims? Sam never vocalized it for fear he might send Dean overboard again, but he could tell they were both thinking it. As many answers as they had, there was still far too many questions for comfort, and they had no clue what they were hunting yet either. A spirit, sure, but whose? It wasn't like they could salt and burn every corpse in town.

Finally, Sam had the list of patients under Steller's care at one time or another who had turned up missing. Four names. "None of them have ever been found," he told Dean.

"Which means it could be any one of them."

Sam nodded once. "Yeah, but there could be any number of others too. I mean, taking his patients was convenient, but it was a huge risk. Who knows how many girls there really are?"

Dean glanced up at his brother. "You got addresses for the families?"

"Yeah."

000000000000

The woman was soft spoken, simply dressed; her mannerisms screamed of someone who was broken down, virtually mutilated mentally. But she smiled pleasantly at them, dressed in their suits, showing their FBI badges. She offered them coffee and pastries, which they accepted because they could see she needed a moment to prepare herself for their questions.

Her daughter's name was Sarah. She was seven years old at the time when she went missing. She went into Children's Mercy with a broken arm that required two pins, and not four months later, she was gone—without a single trace. That was over a year ago now.

"So," Sarah's mother said softly, seating herself across from the agents. "How can I help you?"

Dean glanced at Sammy to tell him to go ahead, because Sam could keep it together better than he could, and he was better at being sympathetic. Really, the only thing Dean wanted to do was bash someone's head in. "We're so sorry to bother you," Sammy began in a gentle voice. "I know it must be very difficult for you."

She smiled, not replying.

"Sarah was in the hospital not long before her disappearance, wasn't she? With a broken arm, which she received at a soccer game, is that right?"

"Yes."

"She was taken to Children's Mercy."

She nodded. "Yes."

"How long was she there exactly?"

"Well, we went through the ER, so a few hours there, plus surgery, and then recovery. Maybe a day or so. The detectives already asked me all this. Why am I answering these questions again?"

Sam glanced at Dean, who was better at the lying part of the job. "We're investigating the disappearance of some other girls, who were in hospitals around the same time," Dean answered. The truth—sort of. "Just covering all our bases."

"You think someone at the hospital took my little girl?"

"We don't know yet," Dean said, his tone hard.

"What can you tell us about the day your daughter disappeared?" Sammy asked, nudging Dean in the ribs.

She paused for a moment, then she forced another smile. "She wanted to ride her bike to the park up the street. I had never let her go by herself before, but she had been inside all day, and I was busy cooking dinner. I thought she would be okay, because it's only a few blocks. I gave her my cellphone, and she left. After that, nobody knows. There wasn't any witnesses," she concluded, her voice trembling with every word.

"Were there any complaints of strange cars in the neighborhood or anything like that?" Sam questioned.

"No. If there had been, I wouldn't have let her go. The police said it was a crime of opportunity: someone driving by and they just took her because they could."

"What about her bike?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's look. Good cop, bad cop, and he was fine with being the bad cop under the circumstances. What happened to Sarah was awful, yes, but there were other girls too, and people were dying.

"They never found it."

"Thank you for your time," Sam said with a smile. "We're so sorry for what you've been through."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Sam took a deep breath as he walked into the living room, where Dean sat on the couch, beer in hand, looking through the investigations on the missing girls. In all, there were actually eleven that fit the description according to the cops. Although they had no leads, no suspects, nothing. A girl went missing; the trail went cold. And then another girl disappeared. There wasn't a pattern to the disappearances either. "Looks like none of the bodies were ever found, so our spirit could be any one of these girls," Sam announced. Dean had barely said a word since they had returned to the house to brainstorm.

Dean nodded without a word.

Sam seated himself on the couch next to his brother. "His computer was encrypted, but I finally hacked it, and it looks like he kept logs of his time in each house, his sleep patterns, what he ate, all of it."

"What—was he OCD?"

Sam shrugged. "There weren't any reports of it from coworkers or anyone else, but get this: a few weeks before his death, one of the logs states that he was planning to sleep at the abandoned house but had to return home because there was someone watching him from outside the house."

"Description?"

"He didn't give one, but the girl who went missing last, Kellie Warren, disappeared two days before, and there wasn't another girl after, even though Steller's death wasn't for almost a month after that."

"Maybe he just didn't find the opportunity, or wasn't finished with her."

Sam shrugged, because it was a possibility, but then it could be any number of other reasons too. "You find anything in there?"

"The cops were all over the place," Dean stated, rubbing at his exhausted eyes. He could barely think straight anymore, because every time he looked at some new file, everything went back to what Steller had done to these girls. Determined as he was, he just couldn't move past that. He cleared his throat and leaned back on the couch: his body ached from the stress. "They didn't even have a working theory going. All the statements they made to the public said that they were hauling ass to get to the bottom of it, but in reality, they had nothing."

"So we just have to find out where he slipped up."

Dean nodded to himself. That was what they'd been looking for all along. He was too tired to keep going around in circles, especially with the idea of what Steller did in his head all the time. With a sigh, he kicked his feet up on the coffee table and stretched his neck. "We didn't find anything to restrain the kids though, at the house," Dean said, thinking out loud. At this point, he wasn't even sure what to think. "So either he kept them somewhere else or scared them enough to stay of their own free will while they were alone."

"Or he drugged them," Sammy said, his face lighting up. "Think about it: he was a doctor, wasn't he? He had unlimited access to all sorts of medications. He could have taken it from the hospital, or he could have written a prescription."

Dean jumped up and snatched his keys off the coffee table.

"For months now, they've had reports of missing sedation drugs," Sammy announced, holding up yet another file as he climbed into the car where Dean waited, parked in the ambulance bay. "They changed the locks, changed the system, even put up security cameras around the drug lockup, and they just couldn't figure it out."

Dean nodded. They knew Steller was taking these girls, where he was keeping them and how he was keeping them, and so on. He took a deep breath, pulling out of the hospital parking lot. He knew what they had to do. It was well past dark now, but he couldn't imagine sleeping, not right now. "None of the girls were ever found," Sammy pointed out, watching how Dean stared ahead at the road. "I say we crash for a few hours, then get up and take off where the police left off in their investigation. With what we know now, combined with what they had, we might be able to figure out where he dumped the bodies."

They pulled up to the Polly's house, parked, and went inside. Sammy retired to the basement, which Dean had expected, but he just couldn't sleep. He felt sick, knowing that every system there was had failed those girls: the hospital hired a creep, their parents had let them wander off on their own, the cops hadn't completed their investigation. Dean sighed loudly, seating himself on the couch again. It didn't feel right to sleep. Instead, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes again, and went back to reading through the dozens of files.

Polly walked in a few hours later, kicked off her shoes, tossed down her keys. "Still stumped?" she asked.

"Yeah," Dean muttered.

She sat on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table, crossing her legs. "You have Steller's computer now, right?" she inquired.

"Yeah, it was encrypted. Sammy cracked it, but—"

"Do you mind if I look at it?"

Dean shot her a confused look, but he was too tired to argue. "Fine." He gestured to where it sat on the table.

She opened it with only a glance up at him, typing furiously, her eyes glued to the screen. "What Sammy found was what Steller didn't mind being found," she stated after a only few minutes.

Dean looked up. "What do you mean?"

"It's a double encryption," she explained, moving up to the couch next to Dean so she could show him. "The first one, you crack it, and it takes you to his all his logs, meant to make the hacker assume you've beat it."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we went through all of that."

"But that's only half of it." She clicked on a few things, and finally, she passed Dean the computer conclusively. "It's like a fake encryption almost: you get through the first barrier, and you assume you've hacked it. Except from there, there's more to hack to get through to the real stuff." She reached across and pulled up a file on the computer: more logs. Except these were each labeled with a girl's name. "Nineteen names," she announced.

Dean was amazed. Immediately, he saw Sarah and Kellie, two of the missing girls. "Is that all? Is there anything else on there?"

"Photos."

"Of the girls?"

Polly shook her head. "No, some guy."

Dean glanced down at the screen as Polly blew it up.

"I know him…" Polly whispered suddenly. "He was all over the news a while ago," she told him quickly. "Like a while before Steller died, ranting and raving about someone who kidnapped his daughter and how the cops weren't doing anything about it. The cops initially looked into it, but nothing came up. While his daughter was missing, the man he said was responsible was ruled out by the cops. He kept telling reporters he was going to find whoever took his daughter himself, and then out of nowhere, he was found dead."

"How did he die?" Dean asked quickly.

"Car accident, I think, but I—"

"Do you remember his name?"

Polly hesitated at the urgency of his tone. Granted she had few details compared to Dean, and only a vague understanding of the supernatural, but she didn't yet see a connection. "Umm… Started with a W, I think."

"Warren? His daughter was Kellie Warren."

"Yeah! That was it!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

As much as Dean wanted to run downstairs, shake Sammy awake, and dive into tracking down their latest lead, it was four in the morning, and he knew his brother would only roll over and go back to sleep after muttering however many cuss words under his breath. There was nothing more he could do for the night with his eyes blurring in exhaustion. Instead, he sat up with Polly. "You said your dad died," Dean pointed out. It was something he had noticed immediately after she said her dad had gotten into some trouble with the crossroads demon; soon after, she had said her dad left her money when he died.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"The crossroad demon?" He assumed she understood the way it worked.

"No. His deal wasn't like that."

"What do you mean?"

"His life for mine."

"You were dying?"

Polly shook her head. "No. His life for mine." She paused when she saw the understanding register on Dean's face, and she nodded slightly. "My dad wasn't so bad really, until he started drinking, and then all bets were off. The things he would say, and the things he would do."

"But he was going to give you up to save himself?"

"Like I said, the things he would do." They sat on opposite sides of the couch, the room dark, everything around them silent.

Dean couldn't think of what to say. He and his dad had their moments, as rare as they were. Most of the time, it was when he stepped into one of the fights between John and Sammy. His whole life, he followed his dad blindly, because he understood it. He understood why John was so obsessed, even if at times he wished he didn't. But even at John's worst moments, he would never have thrown either of his children to the wolves like that.

"Your dad set it all right, somehow; Dad went back to dying and I went on with life, more or less," she finished in a softer tone. She didn't expect him to understand, because no one ever did. It wasn't her father's death that made her need time away from her nursing job; it was the deal he had made—a haunting thing. For the first time since saying her goodbye to John, she explained the full story, instead of the twisted version she had edited a thousand times to be acceptable for the public and not reveal the truth about demons and the supernatural. She sighed at last. "How did you get started with all this?"

"My mom, a demon got her," he said simply. "I was just a kid, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. My dad set out on this mission to kill the thing that killed her, but it wasn't as simple as that."

"Did you ever find it?"

"Not yet." Dean glanced up to meet her eyes, seeing that she was watching him diligently. "Dad, he just got caught up in it all. For every demon or creature he killed, or every spirit he put to rest, there was always ten more out there. And once he knew the truth, he couldn't stop," he told her. This was the only life he'd ever known. Because while Sammy was able to escape away to school for a short time, he couldn't imagine doing something like that: he had seen exactly what happened to their mom. And since then, he had seen things just as terrible. There was no going back. "He used to leave me and Sammy for days—hell, weeks—at a time while he hunted. We'd be caught up in hotel rooms for however long, just the two of us. I always took care of him; I felt responsible for him. And when Dad finally came back, torn to shreds, bullet holes in him, whatever, we were always glad. But then it just meant we would hit the road again and move on to the next town."

Dean sighed; he felt like he was talking in circles, dancing around some thought he couldn't quite place about his childhood. Most of the time, it didn't really matter: it was what it was. He waved dismissively at the files left open and scattered on the coffee table and floor. "I get demons. Humans, not so much. Sometimes, I think they're capable of things just as awful as demons," he admitted.

They fell silent then, having nothing else to say. Polly eventually moved to sit closer at his invitation, her back against his chest, her head tucked under his chin. The time ticked away, and eventually Dean was finally able to fall asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

It was only a few hours later when Dean woke up, and he felt more tired than he did before. It was morning though. He caught a glimpse of Polly in the kitchen, making coffee and breakfast. Sam was seated at the counter with his computer. Slowly, Dean stretched and stood up. "Hey. So Polly was saying you might have figured it out," Sam told him in an impressed tone.

"Yeah. Kellie Warren was the last girl to go missing, she's in Steller's perv-logs. Her dad suspected Steller, although he never used his name, and then he died in a car accident," Dean explained, accepting a cup of coffee from Polly.

"I was looking through the information about Ted Warren's accident," Sam began, showing Dean his computer screen. "The thing is, it really does look like an accident in this case. It looked like he just lost control of his car."

"Maybe," Dean muttered, looking through the pictures more closely. The car had been pretty badly smashed though, the front end squashed into half its usual size, the engine pushed back into the cab of the car. There wasn't much evidence to go on, one way or the other, except for the fact that the damage to the car was indeed consistent with a single car accident.

"Someone could have tampered with it," Polly said, leaning up against the counter. She had managed to climb off the couch, rather awkwardly, without waking up Dean that morning before Sam got up. She showered, dressed, and came downstairs just a few minutes before the brothers woke up.

"Cut brake line?" Sammy wondered.

Dean shook his head. "That would be obvious, something they would check, but it might be something else. Can you find out if it's still in impound?"

000000000000

"FBI. We're here to pick up a car. Uh, lot number 27, stock number 27849," Sammy announced, dressed in his suit, flashing his badge. With a little help from Polly, they had actually managed to make a convincing warrant too, because removing cars from impound wasn't a usual request. Sam and Dean had argued for a few minutes about what their lie should be, but Polly came up with an alternative solution. "We don't even have to hire a tow company," she told them with a grin. Now they stood in the impound lot, Sam and Dean dressed as FBI agents, and Polly dressed in jeans and a greasy old shirt, waiting in the background, leaning up against her truck, a 1973 F150—personalized with lifted suspension.

The security officer raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Most times, wrecked cars don't ever get picked up by the FBI," he stated, grabbing his keys and baseball cap.

Dean nodded. "New evidence, the accident may have been involved in some other cases. We just want to take it to our facility to have our guy give it a good going over," he said in his official tone. The warrant was still in his pocket as a last resort. More and more, he understood John's association with Polly. She had a talent for this thing: arrest warrants, hacking computers, a useful skillset in this lifestyle.

The man nodded, although Sam swore it was with a touch of sarcasm. "You boys want to follow me out there, there ain't room in my truck."

Dean chose to ride with Polly, handing Sammy the keys to his Impala. They followed the security officer through a maze of towed cars until they came to a stop in front of a 2005 Chrysler, crushed to holy hell, but it was definitely the car they were looking for. Polly took the time to turn around and back up to the car, expertly maneuvering the huge truck. Then she jumped out and immediately began to hitch up the car, working quickly to finish as soon as possible before any more suspicion could arise inside the officer. A few minutes later, she was done and turned to the FBI agents. "It really should only take about an hour for Greg to give it the once-over," she told them with a smile.

"Thanks," Sam said—simultaneously to Polly and the officer.

Within an hour, the brothers had changed out of their suits and back into their regular clothes. Polly had arrived just minutes before them, backed the car into the garage, unhitched it, and set out the tools she had. Dean hitched up the front end carefully, shoved the pins into the jack stands. As a precaution alone, he checked the brake lines, then moved onto the suspension and steering. As he worked, without him asking, Polly would pass him the tools he needed, one by one, or pass ideas on what to check next. "You got a light?" Dean asked.

"Found something?" Polly questioned, passing him the flashlight.

"Can't tell just yet." He had made it through the most obvious ways to tamper with a car. The problem was that most of the car was crushed, making it more difficult to pinpoint anything suspicious. Carefully, he followed the wiring, one by one, tracking where they went, because he could swear they had been screwed with. That, or some butch mechanic got his hands on it. At last, he climbed out from under the car. "It's hard to tell, but it looks like somebody changed the wiring, could have done any number of things to the computer systems."

Sammy grinned, glad they were finally going somewhere this goddamn case. "How much you want to bet Steller's car had been tampered with too?"

Dean shrugged, turning to Polly. "We need to hire your tow service again if possible," he announced with a crooked smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Knowing what to look for on Steller's car, they immediately spotted the exact same problem with his wiring. Dean dusted off his hands, tossing the tools aside as he stood up. Back to hunting: good, simple, straight to the point hunting. Standing in the kitchen with Sammy and Polly, he leaned back against the countertop. "Okay, so Steller kidnapped Ted Warren's daughter Kellie, Ted figured out it was Steller, went after him, but Steller killed him first. Then Ted Warren comes back as a pissed off spirit—with good reason—killing Steller, which was supposed to be the end of it. Until Jonah Steller consented to donate his brother's organs, where things got out of hand to say the least," Sammy said, thinking out loud to make sure they weren't missing anything. Dean nodded once. "So salt and burn Ted?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. Except I'm not sure that it'll work this time. Kellie was never found, and neither were any of the other girls. What's to stop any of them from just finishing what Ted started?"

"You want to find them?"

"It's gotta be in here somewhere," Dean pointed out. It had to be! Everything thus far had actually been pretty obvious after they got through all the red tape and barriers. Steller was smart, but he was also clumsy. The logs were his downfall. Nineteen girls, and as far as they knew none of them had been found. That was going to change. It didn't matter how long it took either.

"What if we didn't have to though?" Polly said, her tone cautious. She was no hunter. "I mean, Ted Warren just wanted justice for his daughter, and that might have changed now that he's a spirit or whatever, but he knew it was Steller. So what if we just out Steller to the cops, post it all over the internet, hand the story over to every newspaper in town, include the logs and everything from his computer, all of it? I mean, the cops might be blind, but they can't deny that, right?"

Dean and Sammy exchanged a glance. If all Ted wanted was justice, it could work. But then there was the chance that it wouldn't. Dean wasn't so sure the risk was worth it. "We'll hold off on that," he said finally, because it was what his dad would do. They couldn't risk pissing off the spirit. "Right now, we'll start out just trying to find the bodies. Something made Ted suspect Steller. We just have to figure out what."

000000000

Polly sat at her computer, typing furiously. It had taken her all of about ten minutes to hack into the secure database of the Kansas City Police Department. Without having to leave her house, they instantly had everything they had about Kellie Warren's disappearance and all the cops did after her father began to take things into his own hands. She printed it all, handed it off to Sammy and Dean, then started in on the missing persons reports. Her methods, while not entirely legal, were much faster than anything Sam and Dean had ever done with their FBI badges and cut down on the bullshit. No lies from either party.

"I might have found something. Just maybe," Polly announced finally, and Sam and Dean looked up instantly. "It was more of a hunch than anything, but it might have paid off," she warned them, then carefully went on at their nods. "There's an empty lot about a mile away from Steller's home address. It's been vacant for as long as I can find real estate records on it. It's surrounded by trees, isolated, overgrown. Except…" She paused to pull up satellite imagery while Dean moved to stand behind her. "It's hard to tell because the image blurs so much when you zoom in that far, but I could swear those are markings on fresh graves."

Dean squinted at the picture. It sure as hell looked like it. Large rocks marked on specific places throughout the field, where the grass was shorter or a different color. "How many?"

"Hard to tell, like I said, but I counted at least seventeen."

Dean looked up at Sammy, and without a word, they hurried out to the Impala together, speeding toward Steller's home. The field was easy enough to find, even though they had to park a few blocks away and cut through someone's backyard, then weave through a small forest before they reached it. Dean carried two shovels over one shoulder while Sammy had salt, gas, and anything else they thought they might need stuffed into a duffle bag.

Upon reaching the field, they saw that that the grass had grown much taller since the satellite images were taken. All the same, they set out to find the rocks or any other kind of markers, calling out to each other with the count when they found a new one. "Nineteen," Dean said conclusively. "Let's start digging."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: With this being the final chapter, I just wanted to take the time to say thank you to all of you who have stuck with this story-or even dropped by to read a single chapter. I really do appreciate it!**

**Chapter Twelve**

Nineteen victims, identified; Ted's spirit set to rest, and it was over. Just like that. Dean and Sammy returned to Polly's house one last time to pack up their things before they hit the road again on their way to the next hunt. They walked into the house to see her packing up the files they had left tossed all over her kitchen. "I'll leave you two alone," Sammy said, bitterness slipping into his pleasant tone when he saw the way Dean winked at her.

Polly laughed. "So that's it?" she asked, looking up into his green eyes.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. So now if you want to give the story to every paper in town, ruin those cops' careers for their poor police work, the whole nine yards, you do that then," he told her with a grin. Because he had no doubt that she would. She seemed the type.

"Already did," she replied. "You can stick around for a few days if you want, you know. You don't have to take off."

Dean ducked his head, because a part of him wanted to. Polly was something else, but it wasn't in their nature. Most times, they finished their hunt, then left town as soon as possible to put some distance between themselves and anyone who might suspect their involvement. And then there was always the next hunt. He liked her, because she was smart, fearless, funny, the perfect combination of casual and seductive. "Yeah," he said, and his tone told her that he had no intent at all of staying.

She nodded once. "Yeah," she mimicked with a playful grin.

It took the boys only about fifteen minutes to pack away all evidence that they were ever there, and then they walked out of the house together. They tossed their bags into the trunk of the Impala and climbed inside, Dean turning the key in the ignition. He backed out carefully, put it into drive, and pulled up the street without another look in Polly's direction.

Onto the next hunt. "Where to, Sammy?" Dean asked, looking to his baby brother.

**THE END**

**Also, I'll soon be adding another story if any of you would like to keep your eyes open for it. Thank you all again!**


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